


Just as Deadly

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood AU, Caretaking, Dysfunctional Family, Fainting, Family Drama, Gen, Infection, Influenza, Medical, Sick Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Brotherhood AU. Teen!chesters. John leaves Sam & Dean with Mac for the weekend. Dean is sick and Sam is a pain-in-the-neck. Mac tries to hold the family together and tries to keep Sam from hurting Dean."Words can be just as deadly as a gun, given the right ammunition."
Series: Suitcase of Memories [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Kudos: 35





	Just as Deadly

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, the Brotherhood AU and the characters of Mackland Ames and Caleb Reaves are created by Ridley C. James and Tidia. Supernatural is created by Eric Kripke. I don't own either, just playing with them. This is for Phoebe, who encouraged me to write all the angsty things I want!

**1996**

Dean sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, listening as the engine slowly died down in front of the elaborate apartment complex. He turned towards his father, watching as John's hands tightened around the steering wheel and his jaw clenched in frustration. It was obvious to Dean-the man was gearing himself up for a fight. It'd been like this since Sammy had turned thirteen.

It was like a fuse had been lit and it was slowly burning its way to the dynamite attached at the other end. He'd done everything he could think of to blow out the fire, but no matter what he tried; he felt like he was only delaying the inevitable. Once, he even _prayed_ for the fighting to end. It was an offhanded comment, a quick, 'please God, make it stop.' He grit his teeth when absolutely nothing happened as a result; it only served to prove what he already knew.

He didn't need to look at the backseat to know that Sam - no longer 'Sammy', by his own decree - was steaming mad. He hadn't spoken the entire drive if you don't count all of the loud sighs, angry to be ripped away from another school-another attempt at 'normal'. No amount of pleading, yelling, or bribing their father would get him to change his mind once it was set. Dean understood this; right now, _he_ was a liability, and Sam's current attitude would only hinder the hunt. He just wished that Sam could understand their father's point of view as well.

The hunt had to come first. Innocent people were at risk.

So, Dean did the only thing he could; he followed orders. He turned away from his family, got out of the car and started to get his things out of the trunk. The apartment complex was essentially like a fancy hotel for rich people; it had a doorman, who apparently was aware that Dr. Mackland Ames was expecting guests. The bellhop had been called and they had a baggage cart ready and waiting. The young man politely nodded towards the duffle that Dean'd pulled from the trunk. "I can take that for you, sir."

Sam was a little bit slower at getting out, slamming the car door behind him when he finally did. He followed his brother to the trunk, shaggy hair flying everywhere. Instead of getting his things, he just glared at the car, kicking the tire when the engine abruptly started up again. Dean grabbed Sam's bag and tossed it onto the cart.

Dean quickly grabbed Sam before the car got another round of his wrath, then pulled him out of the way when the car sped away from them, John heading towards the next hunt, alone.

The bellhop stared at the scene, shaking his head at the family discordance. No one spoke as they went into the fancy apartment complex and waited for the elevator to arrive. Once the door opened, the elevator music was atrocious; Dean rolled his eyes at the classical music and quickly pressed the "Penthouse" button that would take them to their temporary home for the next couple of weeks.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek to hold himself in check. They'd always been told not to 'bother' Mac, not to take advantage of the kindness of the older man. Mac would literally give them anything they asked for - money was no object. Once Dean was old enough to figure it out, he realized that it was about money. Perhaps it was a bit of jealousy and more than a little of pride, but John Winchester never asked for financial help from his wealthy friend. He was the family provider, and if all he could provide was a cheap motel, then that was what they got. Dean watched his father spend hundreds on ammo, guns, and supplies for a hunt... saving only a hundred to get he and his children by for the next month. It was one of the ways that John's priorities were skewed; it was one of the things that Dean knew Mac and his dad disagreed over.

It was almost hypocritical of their dad to drop them off at Mac's now. And it was _Dean's_ fault. He rubbed his neck tiredly, giving his little brother a glance. Sam glared at him, still angry. It was similar to the way their father behaved. John Winchester held grudges and it seemed that Sam held them even longer. The elevator door opened, letting them out in front of the Ames Penthouse. The bellhop dropped their bags off right in front of the door, then looked at them with a wanting expression. When neither of the Winchester boys looked at him, he dropped his hand to his side and rolled his eyes walking away from them muttering about people not tipping.

Sam charged ahead and his hand went to the doorbell. Dean quickly grabbed him before he could press the button.

Sam whipped around, ready to argue, but the look on Dean's face stopped him. His brother looked exhausted and for once, he thought that his father might be right at forcing them to stay with the neurosurgeon.

When Dean spoke, his voice was practically nonexistent. He had to fight to get the words out. "Listen, Sammy. Mac's awesome to let us stay here, but we can't be a burden on him. We need to pull our own weight - chores, food, everything."

"But Dean, he has a _maid_." Sam insisted, "Mac isn't going to mind us staying here..."

Dean shook his head, then closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness flooded through him. Thankfully, his brother didn't realize how close he was to taking a nosedive. "I know what you're thinking, Sammy. I know that you like Mac - that you want to stay in one place, but he's not Dad. He's our friend and we can't take advantage of his generosity. Just - be on your best behavior." He pointedly ordered his little brother. "Alright?"

Sam practically threw a temper tantrum, stomping his feet to the carpeted floor. "Fine."

Dean watched as Sam took in a deep breath and pressed the button. A couple of seconds later, the door opened.

As soon as Dean saw the older man, he felt the tension drain from his body. Mac smiled happily at the both of them before immediately drawing first Sam, then Dean into a warm embrace. "I'm so happy that you both could visit."

"Visit?" Sam, of course, had to put in his two cents. "Is that what dad told you?"

Mac didn't respond to the aggression. He just continued to smile and picked up their bags to lead them inside. "Sam, you can stay in the guest room. I put in a desk for you so that you can keep up with your studies. And Dean, of course, Caleb won't mind if you stay in his room." Caleb had his own apartment in Auburn, but would often come and crash in the NYC apartment while he was in town for TriCorp business.

Sam's eyes lit up with excitement. "You mean that Dean and I don't have to share a room?"

Mac glanced at Dean, then back at Sam before nodding. "Not unless you would rather..."

"No!" Sam quickly reassured him. "Thanks, Mac! This is so great." He ran to the assigned room and closed the door behind him. Dean could only imagine the thirteen-year-old jumping up and down at the prospect of having his own room for a few weeks - his little brother was pulling away from him, no longer following him around and looking up to him. For all the complaining that he did about his annoying little brother tagging along, it still hurt to be rejected.

A hand on his shoulder startled the teen, making him jump slightly. Adrenaline pumped through his system, making him feel shaky, instead of more aware of his surroundings as it usually did. He fought to hide it by forcing his hands into his pockets and paying attention to the doctor.

"Sorry, Mac. I didn't catch that last part. I was thinking..." Dean apologized, grimacing when his voice broke on every other word.

Mac didn't let go of his shoulder, staring at him intently. "I asked you how you were feeling? Your father told me that you'd been sick... I didn't realize that you were still feeling poorly." The doctor's hands went to the boy's throat, but Dean backed away before he could examine him.

"I'm fine. Just a sore throat, Mac. Nothing to worry about." Dean licked his lips, fighting against the dryness and that slight choking sensation.

Thankfully, Mac let the issue go for now. Dean was relieved. "Do you want to rest, son?" Mac motioned towards the bedroom. "You look tired."

For a moment, Dean wanted nothing more than to sink into the expensively padded Posturepedic mattress that he knew Caleb owned and have a 'Calgon take me away' montage, but he couldn't. "Nah. Maybe later. I'll just take these into our rooms." He picked up the bags and carried Sam's into the guest room where his brother was spinning around in his body-contoured desk chair excitedly.

Dean threw the bag onto the queen-sized bed, trying not to be angry. "You left this outside. Sammy, what did I tell you?"

"What? I would've gotten it in a second! Stop bossing me around! You're not Dad! And it's Sam!" Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean's throat was burning, and he truly couldn't keep talking. With every word he spoke, his ability to get the sound out and across significantly decreased. Soon, he wouldn't be able to make a peep. "Stop being such a bitch!"

Sam grabbed his bag and started pulling out his clothes and weapons, throwing them in the drawers that Mac had kindly left empty for their stay. "You're such a jerk, Dean! You're the one who follows Dad's every order like a trained soldier. God, it's like you can't even think for yourself!"

Feeling the heat start spreading to his face, Dean just walked away before he started breaking his own rules. He didn't want Mac to walk in on them arguing. Dean wasn't going to put the doctor in the middle of his family's problems.

* * *

He took his own bag into Caleb's room, dropping it on the floor, and then wearily sat down on the familiar comforter. Looking around the room, he wasn't surprised that it was decorated in a simple fashion. A couple of paintings adorned the wall, Amelia Reaves, Caleb's mother- if he remembered correctly, and shelves of books. He went over to one of the shelves and pulled out a copy of Dumas's The Three Musketeers. The memory of Caleb reading to him as a child brought a smile to his face. It had been the first time since his mother had died that he'd been read to. He opened the first page, eyes widening as he caught sight of the familiar handwriting. He quickly closed the cover, telling himself that it was only to protect his best friend's privacy - not because he was jealous of the words that Mac had lovingly written to his new son.

Gathering up his strength, Dean hefted his bag on the bed with a grunt, wishing that he didn't fill it with so many weapons. He knew that Mac had emptied the bottom drawer for him -he always did, but he could never make use of it. It was easier to live out of the duffle bag, knowing that when his father returned, they'd quickly be whisked away to the next town for the next hunt. He made use of the extra time by helping Sammy pick up his things, helping him get over the attachment of another 'home' they had just lost.

He pulled out his knife and slipped it under the pillow before putting the bag in the closet. A knock on the door was expected in Mac's home. The doctor never entered a room unless he knocked. It was quite different than living with his family. He never had any privacy - he could be taking a piss in the bathroom and have the door fly open. They were men - there was no need to be polite; anything seen in the heat of the moment was ignored with a disgusted roll of the eyes.

"Dean?" Mac called out, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Dean croaked, hoping that the older man could hear him without him trying to scream.

Mac walked into the room and looked at the boy with a critical eye. Dean was pale, his freckles the only color on his face, and even though he tried to hide it, he immediately picked up on the minute trembling of the seventeen-year-old's hands. His conversation with John had been terse, discerning the facts that Dean's illness and Sam's rebellion were hindering the Knight's upcoming hunt. Winchester had given him a couple of hours notice before dropping his boys off at Mac's insistence. Mac had argued until he was red in the face, begging the stubborn man to bring them to his Manhattan apartment instead of a cold dark motel room somewhere in Queens. It was a miracle that the man agreed. But, the fight was won- the boys were here with him, safe.

The doctor had been busy, burning the candle at both ends with his Triad and physician's hours. He felt regret that he didn't spend more time with the boys. He hadn't seen his own son in a month, checking up on him with weekly phone calls. This visit had given him a reason to take a break; much needed time to spend with the people he considered his family.

He wanted nothing more than to see Dean take his guard down with him, relax, and let go of the weight that rested on his young shoulders... but instinctively knew that it would take time, much like Caleb at his age.

"Did you need some help, Mac?" Dean whispered, his hand flying to his throat, in pain.

"No, I just wanted to invite you to the table for some dinner. I warmed up some soup, chicken cutlets, and fresh vegetables for the three of us." Mac invited him to follow him to the dining room. Sam was already sitting at the table, napkin tucked into his shirt, waiting for them to start eating.

Guiltily, Dean sat at the table. It wasn't his intension to make Mac cook for them. He'd planned on cooking all of the meals, cleaning up after their messes. He'd waited for the older man to start eating before picking up his spoon. Dean was sure that the aroma was appetizing as Sam was digging in like he'd been starved all of his life, but Dean couldn't taste or smell anything for the last few days. Food felt like it was getting stuck in his throat, making him gag and nearly vomit with every bite. He figured it would be best to stick with the soup for now.

Mac looked around the table, the tension between the boys was apparent. He was used to them laughing and joking with each other, telling him stories of their 'adventures' at school. "Sam, how was school?" He asked the younger brother, knowing that it would be easier to get the boy to open up.

Sam chewed quickly, then swallowed. The boy's face darkened in anger once again, "It was fine before Dad pulled us out! I made the soccer and debate teams! But, of course, Dad had to ruin everything."

Dean kicked him under the table, "Sam!" He screamed, or at least he thought he did. "Enough!" He moved to take a swipe at his head but was stopped.

Mac quickly restrained the elder by grabbing his wrist before he could strike out, becoming concerned when he felt the rapid pounding under his fingertips. "Sam, why don't you go and rest in your room? It's obviously been a long day for both of you."

"But, I'm not tired!" It was punctuated by slamming his silverware down on the table. The force made the glasses rattle.

Mac stood, "It wasn't a suggestion, Samuel." He pulled out Sam's chair and pointed to the guestroom.

Sam glared at him openly; it was the first time that Mac had been targeted by Sam's surliness. "Why is everyone on _his_ side?" He yelled. "It's not fair. No one cares about what I want!" Mac watched in shock as the hormonal thirteen-year-old stomped into the room and winced as he heard the door slam shut behind him. For a second there, he had flashed back nearly ten years to when Caleb had first come into his life - the boy screaming that he hated him and slamming doors in his face.

He turned towards Dean to ask him about his brother when the question flew from his lips at the sight of the teenager practically passed out at the dinner table. The slight trembling he'd seen earlier was full-blown shaking now and Dean had both of his hands at his head to keep from falling into his dinner plate. He was struggling for breath and seemed to be nearly faint.

* * *

Mac moved the plate, then pushed the chair away from the table so that he could reach his patient. One of Dean's hands fell to his side weakly, while the other one still propped his forehead against the edge of the table. Dr. Ames took his fallen wrist and began counting the rapid pulse; he'd counted 120 beats per minute with no sign that it was slowing down. Thankfully, the boy was still conscious.

"Dean, slow down, son. I need you to take a couple of slow deep breaths for me." Mac instructed. When Dean didn't respond, the doctor went to the next step. He gently pulled the boy up out of the seat, wrapping his arms around his chest in case he fell. "You need to lie down."

Guiding him into Caleb's bedroom, he sat him down on the edge of the bed, then lifted his legs onto a couple of pillows. Ames hurriedly ran to his office to get his bag of medical supplies and brought it in the room with him. Another check of his pulse only slightly better than the first at 110; Dean was hyperventilating and his skin was damp with perspiration. Tilting his head back, Mac performed the first step in basic life support preventing his airway from being compromised.

"Dean, it's alright. I've got you. Just relax." Dean nodded, still shaking. The doctor pulled out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, quickly putting them to use. As he'd expected, his pressure was high at 130/90, just like his heart rate, but there was no sign of asphyxiation- merely adrenaline. "I'm going to take your temperature, alright?" Mac waited for him to nod before slipping the probe between his slackened lips and under his tongue. The reading was normal at about 98 degrees.

Going through the list of possible reasons for the reaction, he questioned the last time that he ate. "Dean, have you eaten today? Have you been drinking water?"

"Yeah," Dean moaned weakly. "A little."

He pulled out the glucometer and lancet and went about testing the boy's blood sugar. He took his forefinger and pressed the lancet on the fingertip, piercing his skin and squeezing out a drop of blood to saturate the test strip. The results were normal, a little on the low side, but still within acceptable limits. Dean didn't even flinch, his head still spinning. "Mac, I'm really dizzy. My hands are tingling."

"Your temperature and blood sugar are normal, Dean. Your throat isn't swelling - You can breathe. You're okay. Just try to relax. You're hyperventilating." The teenager looked like a fish out of water. "This is just a rush of adrenaline. You'll be just fine."

Mac patted his face reassuringly, "I'll be right back. I'm going to get you something to drink."

He went into Sam's room. This time, he didn't knock. Sam jumped up from the bed when the door flew open; he'd been feeling guilty and wanted to apologize to the doctor for his behavior when Mac asked him to get a bottle of ginger ale from the lobby soda machine and bring it to him.

When he looked at the doctor in surprise, he was yelled at. "Sam, now!"

The young man nodded, then ran downstairs to the lobby. The soda machines were tucked in the corner by the candy machines and phone booths. Both he and Dean had found them within the first five minutes of exploring the apartment complex.

He pulled out some change from his pockets and waited for the can of ginger ale to fall into the shoot. Sam was back in less than five minutes. He found Mac pulling out ice packs from the freezer and wrapping them in a couple of towels. It only then did he realize that something might be wrong.

"Mac? Where's Dean?" Sam asked worriedly.

"He's in Caleb's room. Just give me the ginger ale and you can go back to your room." Mac ordered. He knew that Dean wouldn't want Sam to see him like this. Even when he was angry with his little brother, his first instinct was to protect him.

"What's wrong? Is he okay?" Sam fired the questions in rapid order before starting in on his father once again. "I knew that he was still sick. I told dad to take him to the doctor, but he wouldn't listen to me! Like always, the hunt is more important!"

Mac took in a deep breath, trying not to get worked up about the youngster's immaturity. "Sam. He's alright; I'm taking care of it. He's just tired. Now, please..." He pointed to the room, "Go."

The boy's shoulders slumped and his eyes filled with tears that he fought to hide. "I'm sorry, Mac," Sam sobbed as he ran back to his room, and shut the door behind him to mask the sounds of his crying.

Mac rubbed his forehead; he felt for the boy- he was at that age where his hormones were raging and he was rebelling-but needed to focus his attention on his older brother. He took the ice packs and drink back into the bedroom, where he still found Dean trembling.

Gingerly, he lifted the boy to a sitting position. "Let's see if you can drink some of this." He opened the can of ginger ale and guided it to his lips. Dean was aware enough to try and hold the can for himself. His hands were still shaking but he didn't drop the can. The teen drank a couple of sips then tried to lay back; Mac stopped him by sitting behind him and propping him against his chest. Nudging his hand, Mac told him to drink more of the cold soda.

Gradually, he could feel the boy's heart slowing down, and his breathing even itself out. Once Dean had drained the can, Mac took the empty container from his limp hand and threw it in the trash bin by the bed. The doctor slipped out from behind the teen and allowed him to lie flat on the bed. Taking the ice pack, he put it behind Dean's neck knowing that it'd cool him down. "Dean, this will help. Alright?"

He took the opportunity to check his vital signs again, happily noting that his heart rate and blood pressure were steadily approaching a normal high. "I'm going to give you a thorough exam, son. I just want to make sure that this wasn't caused by something serious."

Dean didn't argue, just wiped at his sweaty forehead before nodding his consent. Dean barely felt the doctor as he lifted his shirt and probed his belly, pressing his fingers under his ribs. "I just wanted to make sure your spleen wasn't enlarged, but you seem to be just fine." The doctor's hands pressed along his liver, stomach, intestines, even his bladder-which made the teen squirm. "I'll let you up in a minute... Can you please turn on your side?" Weakly, Dean did as he was told and felt Mac run his hands along his back and spine. The soft tissue of his kidneys was examined. "Have you noticed any discoloration in your urine? Darker than usual?"

"I don't remember..." Dean whispered, his breath still coming out in gasps.

"Do you need to urinate now?" Mac asked professionally, as he pulled away. He'd felt the full bladder and knew that Dean needed to use the toilet.

"Yeah, I gotta pee like the dickens." The teen's face was pink-tinged now, embarrassed.

"Alright, let me help you up." Mac gripped him by the shoulders levering him up into a sitting position until he regained his equilibrium. Thankfully, both he and his son's bedrooms had an adjoining bathroom. He helped Dean to his feet and led him to the bathroom. Dean was still shaking and gripped the sink once he was within reach to help hold him up.

"Mac, what's wrong with me?" He looked into the mirror and was shocked at how ill he looked. He felt like he was on the verge of falling.

* * *

"You might be a little dehydrated. I think that with everything that's been happening lately- you haven't been drinking enough fluids." Holding tightly onto the young man, he led him to the front of the toilet. Dean's head lolled around dizzily and he let his head rest back against the supporting shoulder. Ames gave him a few minutes to fumble with his pants and complete his business, looking away to give him the illusion of privacy. The doctor had taken a peek at the toilet bowl before he flushed it - the dark yellow was a sign that Dean needed fluids. The teen had been sweating profusely, and Mac hadn't seen him drink anything to replenish himself.

He helped him to the sink to wash his hands, then took one of the washcloths and soaked it with water before wringing it out. Handing it to Dean, he let the boy wipe the sweat from his face and neck before helping him back into the bedroom. This time, Dean sat on the edge of the bed. Mac knelt down in front of him, his hands going to Dean's neck slowly. He pressed firmly and found several lymph nodes along his neck to be swollen, tracing the nodal drainage down to his clavicles. "You are definitely fighting off an infection, Dean. Your lymph nodes are enlarged."

Dean closed his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I figured that from laryngitis."

Mac rested his hand on the boy's shoulder until he was comfortable enough to open his eyes to look up at him. "Do you remember that lesson I taught you about the immune system and where the lymph nodes are located?" He waited until Dean nodded to continue. "I need to check and make sure that this isn't a systemic infection."

"Yeah, I know. This sucks." The young man complained but shed his shirt and jeans before wrapping his arms around his chest self-consciously. He rested his head in his hands wearily. "I'm so fucking tired, Mac."

"I'll be really quick. Have you taken any medicine for this?" He motioned for the young man to lie down on the bed, then covered him with a blanket for warmth.

"No, just a couple of Tylenol." Dean huffed, his hands coming to his neck, now irritated and sore due to the probing fingers that were pressing along his shoulders - trying to shrug him off. "Shit, Mac. Go easy, it hurts."

"How long has this been going on?" He asked as he continued his exam down his chest and under his arms. Dean fidgeted as the doctor pressed his fingers into his axilla, feeling for any tenderness or enlargement. Mac ignored the ticklish wriggling and continued on to the other side.

"A week or so." Dean felt his face flush in awkwardness as the doctor continued under the blanket.

"How about a rash or a fever?" The doctor pressed along his groin, and down his thighs searching for signs of inguinal lymph activity. Mackland was relieved when he found that the infection was localized.

"No fever. No rash. Just a sore throat. What do you think it is?"

"I _think_ it's just a virus, son. It should've gotten better, with rest. Although, it seems like the environment you've been living with lately hasn't been conducive for that... So, I'm prescribing rest, fluids, and ibuprofen to help with the swelling. If it gets worse, I'll start you on an antibiotic, but I'm hoping to do without. I'll bring you a bottle of Gatorade." The doctor patted the young man's knee as he stood. "Why don't you just rest for a while? Put the ice pack behind your neck for a few minutes until you feel better."

Mac left the boy while he went to get him a couple of bottles of Gatorade. He and Caleb both stocked up on the electrolyte drink - both of them worked out vigorously and needed the sports drink to rehydrate.

His thoughts were unkind to John Winchester. For years, he'd begged the man to prioritize Dean in his life. He'd seen the way that Dean was ignored in favor of his little brother, often being put in between during arguments.

Dean's current condition was completely preventable. The boy just needed rest - peace and quiet: no talking, no yelling, just sleep. Most of it, he felt was stress-related, especially the reaction at the dinner table. The doctor had seen the boy hyperventilate before - he'd nearly passed out after his first minor car accident involving his father's beloved Impala. Most people believed Dean to be stoic, out of touch with his feelings - Mac knew different. When his family was involved, heart ruled the teen's actions. He could only imagine what it would be like to live with John and Sam at each other constantly. The boy looked as if he was being torn to shreds emotionally and it needed to stop. He had half a mind to call the Knight and just go off on the man, but he couldn't. He had to protect Dean's privacy, number one and number two, John was on a hunt. He needed to be completely focused- distractions were dangerous in their positions.

He stared at Sam's closed door, wondering at the change in the little boy he helped raise. He was becoming more and more like his father, that much was obvious. He was stubborn, angry, and desperate for this ideal of 'normal' that he felt that he lacked. John had been complaining for the last few months now of Sam's behavior, his attitude. Mac had merely laughed it off - remembering his own rebellious teen's moments. But, Caleb's attitude was a result of a traumatic childhood -most of the trouble was rooted in the deep fear of abandonment. Sam, in comparison to both Caleb and Dean, had a childhood filled with love, support, and family. It may have not been the 'normal' nuclear family other children had - but, there was no doubt that if he needed anything, it would be provided for him. He'd been spoiled by all of them.

Mac rubbed his mustache and jaw, his five o'clock shadow and itching reminder that he needed to shave, as he thought perhaps that was the problem. The boy got away with murder. And now, it was biting them all in the ass. There was a streak of selfishness that was starting to take hold, and it worried him. There was no room for _selfishness_ in the Brotherhood.

The doctor walked back to the room where Dean was resting and quietly opened the door. Just as he'd predicted, the young man was sleeping soundly. A majority of the people who suffered a near syncopal episode tended to fall asleep right after. The ice pack was melting under Dean's neck, so he eased the pack away, trying not to startle him. "It's just me, Dean." He whispered, "You're okay."

Taking his wrist in his hand, he pressed his fingers against the pulse point, relieved to find that it was completely normal now. Deciding against waking him, he put the bottles on the nightstand next to the bed and let the boy sleep.

He went to his fridge and took out a bottle of water, drinking deeply and thinking about how he would deal with his future protégé. Samuel Winchester had the potential of being a great man and hunter; unfortunately, he was also Dean's weakness. That little boy could bring out the best in his brother - or he could break him down and destroy Dean's self-worth. It was something that Caleb had been complaining about, in fact begging for him and Jim to run interference within the Winchester family in order to protect his best friend. While he and Jim had noticed the subtle changes, neither of them felt that it was their place to intervene. They were John's sons.

Dr. Ames dreaded this. Sam needed to be encouraged to follow his dreams - and he couldn't deny that some of his arguments regarding John were valid. In this instance, Dean should've been taken to a doctor. He couldn't see how things would get better - his friend demanded discipline and obedience from the children, his own son Caleb included. Sam was starting on his own path - and it seemed that it didn't intersect with his father's plans.

He knocked on the younger boy's door and was nearly knocked over when the boy flung the door open. "Mac! Is Dean alright?" Sam was literally wringing his hands worriedly.

Mac patted his shoulder, nodding. "Yes, he's fine, Sam. He's just exhausted and needs to get some rest. Are you alright?"

Sam just huffed at him, "Why wouldn't I be fine? I'm not the one who's sick."

Rubbing his chin, Mac tried not to aggravate the situation further but was starting to become irritated by the constant back-talk. "Samuel, I ask that you do not speak to me that way. It's disrespectful."

The boy had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, Mac."

"You know, son. We aren't the enemy: Dean, Caleb, your father, myself... we only doing what's best."

Sam was still angry, it was evident in his pacing, the way he was shaking his head. "Best for who, Mac? It's always about the hunt! Dad doesn't care about us!"

This time, the doctor interrupted him, ignoring the error in grammar just this once. "Your father loves you and your brother. Don't ever doubt that, Sam. He would die for you."

"He never listens to me! What I want doesn't matter to him! I'm tired of moving around. I'm sick of hunting - of watching everyone get hurt. Maybe, I don't want to be in the 'family business'! Instead of letting me play soccer, he forces me to train to be a hunter."

"Hunting is important, Sam. What we do, it saves lives, son."

The boy didn't respond, just hugged his chest and looked out the window towards the night lights of New York City. "Sam?" Mackland called out to him to get his attention. "Please, Samuel, just remember - words can be deadly weapons. Sometimes, the things you say can hurt the ones you love badly. Your brother doesn't deserve that, son."

He walked away, letting the boy absorb his meaning. "Good night, Samuel."

"Mac? Can I see Dean?"

He didn't turn around, "Not tonight. We'll see you at breakfast." With that, he closed the door behind him.

* * *

The next morning, Mackland woke up and immediately went into Dean's room to check on him. The bed was made, yet empty and the bottles of Gatorade still on the nightstand, unopened. The doctor searched for the missing teen in the adjoining bathroom but found it to be just as vacant.

Just as he was about to get his phone, he heard a metal clatter come from the kitchen. Striding over to the kitchen, he was surprised to see plates of food covering the kitchen counter. The pans clattered again and he noticed that Dean was kneeling on the floor and digging through the cabinet looking for something. Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean suddenly made a triumphant noise and stood up with a flat bottom griddle in his hands. The change in position made Dean's head spin and the pan slipped from his fingers and to the countertop with a heavy clang. He clutched the counter for a moment before telling himself to suck it up. Picking up the griddle, he sprayed it with pan-oil and put it over the lit stove to warm up. The pancake batter was pre-mixed and ready. He poured it on top of the warm iron and waited for it to thicken.

Mac watched the teen struggling, knowing that his presence wasn't discovered. He didn't want to scare him, so he flicked on the light in the hallway. "Good morning, Dean. Breakfast smells delicious."

Dean turned around, grinning tiredly. "Morning, Mac. Hope you like pancakes, eggs, and coffee." His voice was still rough, breaking at the end of each word. He turned the burner down to low before grabbing the older man a mug and pouring him a cup of coffee.

The coffee smelled like pure bliss. "Thank you. Everything looks wonderful." He took the offered cup, noticing the way Dean's hands rattled the saucer. "Where's Sam this morning?"

Dean motioned towards the bathroom, "Taking a shower. The little girl'll probably be in there for hours, doing _her_ hair." He teased his absent brother fondly, as he flipped another pancake into the plate.

Once the plate was full, Dean shut the stove and placed the hot pan in the sink. He bent over to pick up a sponge to wash the dishes and was hit by another wave of dizziness. Just like the first time, the feeling passed and he was able to stand upright without falling.

Mac sipped at his coffee, watching as Dean quickly scrubbed and cleaned the griddle, drying it with a paper towel before putting it on the rack. The plate of pancakes was put on the counter in front of the doctor as Dean settled himself across from him in a stool.

It was then that Mackland noticed that there was only one place setting on the counter. Dean had cooked him breakfast and by the lack of silverware and plates, he didn't plan on joining him.

"You should try it before it gets cold. Trust me, my pancakes are awesome." Dean timidly encouraged.

The doctor just stared at the boy for a minute, then got up and pulled out a plate, cup, and fork. "Everything looks amazing, Dean. Thank you. You even made scrambled eggs. The only thing is that I hate to eat alone..." He placed the dishes in front of the teen, arranging it properly. "Has Sam eaten?"

"Yeah," Dean answered him, "Sam's into oatmeal now, so he fixed himself a bowl when he got up. Hope you don't mind."

Mac patted the hand closest to him, smiling. "Of course, I don't mind. Now, help yourself." He pointed to the plates of food.

There was an expression on the teen's face that Mackland couldn't determine. "Dean?"

"I ate with Sammy. I'm not really hungry." Dean explained.

"Really?" The doctor arched an eyebrow, "Is that why there's only one bowl in the drying rack?" He divided the pancakes, eggs, and toast and filled up the boy's plate before putting it in front of him. "You didn't eat any dinner, son. I know you're hungry, so please..."

Reluctantly, Dean picked up the fork and started eating. Mac sipped at his cup of coffee, enjoying the flavors, warmth, and surge of energy that first cup of coffee always seemed to give him in the morning.

He kept a close eye on how much Dean actually put into his mouth. Most of the food seemed to be just pushed around on his plate.

The door to the bathroom opened, and warm steam escaped as Sam walked out dressed and ready for the day to begin.

"Good morning, Sam," Mac called out to him, smiling.

"'Morning, Mac." The boy smiled back as he approached the counter. "Hey, Dean. I didn't know that you were making pancakes. Can I have some?"

Mac was about to offer his when Dean pushed his plate over in front of his brother. "You can have mine, Sammy. I'm not really hungry."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam bounced on the stool happily; the boys must've reconciled. He grabbed a fork and started digging in with relish. The doctor forced himself not to grit his teeth. He was starting to get a clear idea of exactly why a simple virus had run down a healthy seventeen-year-old.

The doctor stood up after a few minutes and went over to the refrigerator and started pulling out bottles of Gatorade. Pouring the lemony drink in two glasses, he brought them over to the boys and encouraged them to drink it.

"Hey, Mac. Can we go to the Museum of Natural History today? Please? I really want to see it." Sam begged mid-bite.

Dean's head flew up, meeting the doctor's eyes; it was clear that Dean didn't want to go and if Mac was going to be honest, he didn't think the boy had the energy to walk around the apartment-never mind the city. On the same token, Sam was almost desperate to explore and learn. Perhaps, the boys did need some time apart, Mac thought.

"I think I could arrange that, Samuel. I'll have my driver drop you off at any museum or library that you would like to visit. He'll wait by the door for you to finish and bring you back when you get tired. What do you think?" Mackland arched his eyebrow in question.

Sam's eyes shot to his brother's for permission, expression forming into what Caleb liked to call the 'puppy-dog' look. His son commented that no one could resist the look; Dean included.

Nodding his consent, Dean agreed to let Sam have his fun. "But, you better not get into any trouble. Call us if you need help. And, you're taking a knife and holy water with you!" The youngster quickly agreed to any and all rules to get the opportunity to independently wander the wondrous city of New York.

He ate breakfast as if he were a cyclone, then ran to his room to get his backpack. Mac laughed silently as the young man filled the bag with different books and carried them around. He put a cap on his head and pulled out a camera. Samuel Winchester looked like quite the tourist. Even Dean started laughing when he saw him.

The driver was called and less than a half-hour later, Mackland and Dean were alone in the apartment together. Immediately, Dean began cleaning up the dishes from breakfast. Much to the older man's surprise, Dean was ignoring the dishwasher and washing everything by hand.

Stepping up next to him, he dried the dishes as Dean washed them. It was such a simple thing, washing dishes, standing side-by-side... working together. The teen looked so serious, as if this was _a spot eliminating_ training exercise, that Mac couldn't help but use the suds as bubbles and blow them in Dean's blonde hair to lighten the mood. Dean swung around, mouth gaping open as if he couldn't understand what exactly had happened. The doctor started laughing, then wet his fingers and flicked the droplets at him. Dean made a noise, incredulous. It only took a few more seconds before the seriousness melted away and they both became children, spraying and splashing each other with water.

Unfortunately, Dean had the advantage of being next to the sprayer and Mackland found himself becoming utterly soaked, with no return ammunition as the switch from the sprayer shut off the main faucet. The sponge was near him, so he launched it at the younger man's face and watched as it bounced off his cheek, leaving the side of Dean's face wet. Dean sprayed him again, then had to stop as he collapsed against the sink laughing almost hysterically.

Mac wrapped his wet arm around the boy's shoulder, patting him on the back in amusement. "That was fun, wasn't it?" He commented, lightheartedly.

"Yeah," Dean croaked, "It was." The seventeen-year-old was smiling - a real smile, one that made his eyes sparkle and it made Mac a little sad, for he didn't remember the last time he'd seen Dean laugh like that. No matter how John treated his eldest son, he was still a child - one who grew up too fast. He deserved to have a little fun, to just relax and let the weight of the world off his shoulders for once. "Just don't tell Caleb."

Laughing, Mac nodded, "As long as you don't tell John."

At the mention of his father's name, Dean's smile faded and for a moment, the doctor feared he'd said the wrong thing. Suddenly, Dean straightened and grabbed a dry towel hanging from the oven handlebar. "I'll clean up if you want to change. You're soaked." The words flew breathlessly from the boy's lips.

The younger man turned from him, kneeling to the ground, and started mopping up the wet floor. And just like that, it was one step forward and two steps back. "Yes, I am. You got me, son."

Mac went to the cabinet and grabbed another couple of towels to help Dean. Soon, there was no evidence there'd ever been a water war in every way possible. "Why don't we both get out of these wet clothes and then watch a movie together? It's been a long time since I've had the time to just sit and watch a movie. I know that Caleb has a small collection... we can browse through them - I'll even let you pick."

Dean blinked at him but agreed. "Sure."

It only took a couple of minutes for Mac to change. Deciding to wear something a little more comfortable, he pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. There was still a tag on the pants, as he'd never had the opportunity to wear them. His usual attire consisted of three-piece suits and a lab coat or when hunting, sturdy jeans, and a button-down shirt.

He'd come out of his bedroom and headed towards the kitchen. Pulling out a couple of lemons, he quickly cut them up and started squeezing them for juice. Dean walked out of Caleb's room wearing a loose pair of jeans and a plain white undershirt. Even the undershirt looked oversized, indicating that he'd lost weight recently. "Hey, Mac, what're you doing? Want me to do anything?" The teen walked over and sat in the stool, watching him.

Mac just smiled, "No, I don't need any help. And, I'm making us some lemonade." As he spoke, he pulled out a jar of honey and mixed a dollop into the lemon juice until it dissolved. "And, of course, we can't forget the secret ingredient." With a wink, Mac added a couple of tablespoons of brandy. He poured the old sore throat remedy into two small juice glasses and handed one to the ailing boy before taking the other for himself.

"To good health." He toasted before downing the drink in one gulp. Dean followed suit with a grimace. With a guiding hand, Mac nudged Dean in the direction of the living room and to the recliner. He set it up for him, then in an overly dramatic and fatherly way, draped a blanket over the kid's lap, making him roll his eyes.

He tossed him another bottle of Gatorade, motioning for him to drink it before opening the entertainment center cabinet. Caleb's VHS tape collection was varied, containing a little bit of everything with the exception of what he considered to be 'chick flicks'. "So, what are we in the mood for?"

Dean snuggled in the chair, wiggling around until he was comfortable and then wrapped the blanket around his shoulders creating himself a nest. "I don't know... action would be cool."

The movies were organized by genre, thankfully, making it easier to find the 'action' movies from the comedies, westerns, horror, classic, and sci-fi movies. "Well, it seems we have: Die Hard, Die Hard With a Vengeance, True Lies, Speed, Lethal Weapon 1, 2, 3, and Patriot Games. Do you have a preference? I don't believe I've seen any of them."

"Lethal Weapon is awesome. Dad booked us a room with HBO one time, so I got a chance to see the first one. I haven't seen the second or third." Dean remarked tiredly. "I really don't care... whatever you want to watch is fine with me."

Sitting on his heels, Mac slid the cartridge into the VCR and switched the television to channel three. "Let's watch the first one so that we're both up to speed on the characters. Then we can watch the sequels."

Once the tape had started and automatically tracked itself, the doctor went over to the couch and sat back comfortably. The movie itself was entertaining, intertwining comedy, action, drama, and intrigue. For the first half-hour, Dean laughed and made various off-color remarks regarding police procedures. It didn't last very long, as the boy started dozing off before falling completely asleep on the recliner. Mac turned the television set down to low, then got up to check on the sleeping teen. The brandy in the lemonade did its job in relaxing him, the doctor thought. Laying a gentle hand on his brow, Ames was relieved that his temperature seemed normal and his skin was dry. He'd been watching him drink the fluids he'd given him, hoping to avoid a trip to the emergency room for an intravenous drip. Dean moaned slightly at the disturbance but didn't wake.

With any luck, Mackland thought, and a little sleep, he should be on the mend. He left him to rest, sitting back on the couch to finish the movie.

* * *

Sam came home a few hours later, his spirits down. He'd been expecting to be excited to visit one of the best museums in the United States, but once he'd actually gotten there - he felt remarkably alone. Every time he turned to talk about an exhibit or something new he'd learned, he'd remember that there was no one beside him to listen. Mac's driver had always kept Sam within eyesight, but he'd given him room to explore the museum at his own pace. The man didn't walk beside him or chat with him like his big brother always did. He'd taken Dean's presence for granted. For as long as he could remember, Dean was always with him. For the first time, Dean wasn't there and he missed him.

When he walked into the apartment, he wasn't sure what he was expecting - but it certainly wasn't Mac and Dean laughing hysterically at Mel Gibson. Dean was sitting in the recliner, a tray of popcorn, ginger ale, and a roast beef sandwich on his lap. He was biting the sandwich, a huge chunk of meat falling from his lips as he sputtered at the next scene. Sam scrunched his forehead in disgust; his brother could be a pig, but he refrained from commenting this time.

"Hey, I'm back," Sam called out as he walked over to the living area. As he neared the television, he noticed Mac on the couch, stretched out with a pillow behind his back and his feet on cushions.

The older man pulled his feet off the couch, moving onto the right side of the seat. He patted the cushion beside him. "How was your trip, son? Have a good time?"

Sam walked over to them and sat next to the doctor. "It was good. I wish you could've come with me..." He stared at his hands, noticing that he'd caught his big brother's attention.

Looking up, he bit his thumb chewing it anxiously before gathering his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Dean. I was a big jerk to you and I didn't mean what I said yesterday."

There was a guarded look on Dean's face as if he didn't know if the apology was the prequel to something sinister. "I don't know what you want me to say, Sammy. It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it; I'm not some girl that's gonna cry about hurt feelings. I'm over it. Just watch the movie - you missed the part where Leo got kidnapped." Dean spoke softly, almost nervously. He'd taken the doctor's advice and tried not to speak unless it was absolutely necessary in the hopes that he would gain full-use of his voice.

Sam wanted to say more, Mac could tell, but Dean closed the subject by stuffing another bite of sandwich in his mouth and turning his attention back towards the movie. So, the boy sat back and sighed. "So, who's Leo?"

"He's a shady character who's played by Joe Pesci. He's supposed to be protected by Riggs and Murtaugh and they've failed horribly. I would've never left a protected witness alone in the car." Mac commented lightheartedly, knowing that Dean would respond in kind as they'd done throughout the first movie.

"Tell me about it, Mac. I mean, come on! How stupid could they be not to have seen that coming? And that guy, I don't care if he has diplomatic immunity! I'd still kick his ass." Dean grumbled softly, his voice garbled by the food and sore throat. Mac put his forefinger against his lips as a frequent reminder to the boy to refrain from commenting aloud.

"Which one is this one? Is this the second movie or the third?" Sam questioned, wanting to know what he missed.

"It's the middle of the second," Mac mentioned. "Do you want us to rewind the tape or just fill you in on what you missed?"

He stared at his captivated brother, then decided that he'd just be filled in. "It's alright, just tell me what's going on. I'm pretty sure that I can catch up. These movies are pretty standard. Good cops catch the bad guys and blow stuff up while they do it. It's not rocket science."

"I agree. It seems that they are using some type of formula and repeating it. This movie is not dissimilar from the first one. The only difference is that the first one dealt with a 'Shadow Company' and the second with 'South African terrorists'."

Dean held up a hand. "Oh, whoa. No, we aren't going to psychoanalyze these movies! Just watch. No thinking. That was the rule, Mac. Remember?"

Sam was curious. "Wait a second. Why is there a rule?"

Dean took a swig of his drink before belching loudly. "Excuse me," he laughed, "Well, it wasn't enough to just watch the movie. Dr. Ames started analyzing Riggs' suicide attempts and even went so far as to come up with a 'treatment plan' to help him in the first movie." He was rolling his eyes at the doctor, who was shaking his head at him. "I made him promise to stop thinking if we started the second one."

"Wow, Mac. Talk about taking your work home with you. You gotta get out more." Sam turned on his mentor, siding with his brother. "And I thought I was a geek."

"You are." Dean said at the same time Mac was defending himself. "I am not a geek! I just like movies that are intellectually stimulating. And I'm starting to think that you are physically unable to keep quiet, Dean."

"Argh, stop worrying! And, you missed the point, Mac! Movies are escapist. It's fun - you know. Don't over-think things. Just enjoy the ride." Dean moved the tray off his lap and onto one of the end tables, then he sunk into the chair. He laughed at the next scene with Murtaugh showing up at the South African embassy. "Dude, what an idiot. That was gay."

It was Mackland's turn to roll his eyes at the boys. He was happy that they were getting along, even though it was at his expense. Getting up, he let the boys finish the movie as he started making dinner. Dean had made them breakfast and lunch, seemingly taking on all of the chores since he'd arrived. It was obvious that he was doing it out of a misplaced sense of responsibility, perhaps even an order from John. He didn't seem to be able to relax until everyone around him was taken care of, reminding Mac of Jim Murphy.

Quick recipes were his specialty, as he was always in a hurry. A salad was chopped and ready with a couple of minutes. Potatoes were wrapped in tin foil and four pieces of beef steaks were seasoned and thrown into the oven.

Dean noticed and quickly went into the kitchen to join him. Sam remained glued to the television, a trait that Mac had noticed when Sam was a toddler. He blamed it on John, putting his son in front of the TV set whenever he left to go on a hunt. The little boy would watch his 'Thundercats' and 'GI Joe' without end, completely engrossed. He had worried that it would stunt the boy's mental development, but Sam was so intelligent that he gave up fighting John on the subject.

As he cooked, Dean watched while making small talk about the latest Yankees players. He countered with Mets' statistics, allowing them to have a friendly argument about their rivalry. "Dean?" Mac asked him cautiously, "I heard a rumor that you were being scouted during your baseball games. Did anything ever come from it?"

The young man's eyes clouded, and he snorted. "Damien tell you that?"

"Caleb is proud of you and everything you've accomplished. So am I." Mac gave him a gentle and encouraging smile. "So, did it?"

"Nah. Nothing happened. They weren't going after me - just one of my teammates. He's a senior." Dean frowned but attempted to keep a light tone as if it didn't matter to him.

"Well, you'll be a senior come fall. They'll be other scouts."

The seventeen-year-old seemed to be lost in thought, not responding to the positive support. Mac put his hand on his shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean looked up, biting his lip. "Yeah, about that... Mac, I've been thinking. Baseball is a fun sport, you know? But, it's not something that has a future. It's not like I'm going to play pro or anything." Mac frowned at the self-depreciation. "It's a waste of time. I could be training instead."

"You love to play... and if you love something, it's not a waste of time, son. You are amazing to watch on the field. Never mind the fact that baseball could open up opportunities for you. You could go to college. I know that you roll your eyes at me when I say this, but I can picture you in medical school."

"Ha! Mac, please. I'm not that smart. Honestly, I don't even think I'm going to graduate. I'm thinking of just - just getting a GED or something." Dean rubbed his forehead in pain, then licked his lips when he saw the doctor's mouth fly open.

"What? Why would you do that, Dean? You're less than a year away from graduating." While Dean wasn't a straight-A student like his brother, there were times when Mac knew the boy enjoyed going to school. He excelled at science and math and secretly loved to read just as much as Caleb, sneaking into his library and reading through some of his favorite pieces of literature.

"I'm a hunter, Mac." The doctor winced as Dean's voice started breaking again. He'd clearly expended his energy unnecessarily. "That's what I am. That's my future. I'm not a college boy like Damien. I'm not going to start my own business or settle down somewhere. So, why should I waste my time, you know? I can just take that test and forget about the drama of high school - I can focus on what's really important: saving lives, hunting evil. The Brotherhood."

Mac rubbed his mustache, trying to think of how to calm the teen down and get him to think rationally. "Dean, I don't think this is a decision you can make on a whim. Why don't you just take some time and think about it? Think about the pros and the cons of your choice."

"I know that," Dean said, gritting his teeth. "Mac, I'm not an idiot. I have my reasons."

"And what are they, son? Are you basing this decision on what you think John would want? Or is this what you want?"

Confusion clouded the boy's eyes, "I don't know. It's just an idea, Mac. Don't freak out or send Dad after me with scripts or anything."

Mac gave him a half-smile. "I won't. I just worry that you take too much on, son. You take care of everyone... I just want you to take care of yourself as well. There's such a thing as being well-rounded. You can't make hunting your life."

Sam laughed at the television set, catching their attention. "Hunting's the family business, Mac. And family comes first." Dean got up from the stool, swaying slightly before righting himself and walked over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of soda. He cracked open the cap and drank the fizzy drink. "Anyway, Dad called earlier. You were in your study. He says he finished the hunt earlier then he expected. He'll be here later tonight to pick us up. So, Sam and I will be out of your hair soon."

Mac gripped Dean's wrist as he started to walk away, a memory flashing of a twelve-year-old Caleb coming home for the first time - afraid of being in the way. "You and your brother are not in my way. You are always welcome here. I hope you consider this your home."

Suddenly, Dean's mouth went dry. "Thanks," he whispered. "I appreciate that." He breathed a small sigh, clearing his throat. "I'm just going to go lay down until dinner... is that ok?" He nodded towards Caleb's bedroom.

The doctor put a hand on his forehead, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah," he croaked out, "Just tired. It'll be -what- twenty-five minutes for the steaks to be done?"

"About that."

"'K. Well, I'm just gonna go rest until then." He pulled away from the doctor and went into his best friend's bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. The duffle bag was still in the closet, so he kneeled down and unzipped one of the pockets pulling out a letter.

The letter was sealed in an envelope. The importance of the letter was evident in the gold embossing, cream color, and thickness of the paper. He slipped his finger in between the folds and broke open the seal. With a weary heart, he pulled out the paper and unfolded it.

* * *

The first line nearly made his heart stop. "Congratulations, Mr. Winchester." The rest of it offered him a full baseball scholarship upon the completion of his senior year to Louisiana State University; he'd been secretly coveting going there ever since Damien's surprise baseball summer camp. He'd dreamed of playing in the big leagues and this was his one shot. The problem was that he just didn't know what to do! He wanted it so bad that he could picture it: he could do what Caleb had done. Hunt on weekends and breaks... his family could visit him at college.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the piece of paper until he heard a knock at the door. "Dean?" Sam's voice called through the closed door, "Dad called again. We've got to be ready to leave as soon as he gets here. He's got another hunt. He says he needs backup this time; and he's making us go with him."

He rubbed his head. There was just no way, he thought, crumpling the paper in his fist before stuffing the evidence back into his bag. He couldn't leave his family. They needed him; he was just being selfish in dreaming like a stupid little kid who wanted Santa to bring back his mother from the grave.

"Yeah. I'm coming." Dean pulled out his bags, putting them on the bed, ready to go. "I'll help you pack, Sammy."

He put his hand on his little brother's shoulder and listened as he complained, nodding in sympathy when the need arose. As they walked passed the living room, he could hear Dr. Ames yelling on the phone. Dean didn't need telepathy to figure out that his father was on the other end. There was only one person on the planet that could make the even-tempered neurosurgeon lose his cool. He'd caught the end of the conversation; his name had come up. "Your son is not a robot! He needs to rest. Send someone else, John." Not wanting to know what his father's response was, he pushed Sam into the bedroom and shut the door behind them both.

Sinking into the bed, he leaned over and stared at the floor. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. He was f'ing tired. His eyes stung and he quickly reached up to wipe at them. The bed creaked as a familiar weight rested against his side. A tentative hand touched his back, "Dean? Are you alright?"

Looking up with now bloodshot eyes, he nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You still mad at me?"

Dean turned and took in a breath, "No. I'm not, Sammy. I just - sometimes I need a breather, you know?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I know. Me too."

"You know, I don't mind that Dad rides me. I know that he's just doing what's best for us, trying to protect us, especially after Mom." Dean bit his lip. "He needs us, you know. Both of us are all he's got."

Hesitantly, Sam asked, "I know. But, I just can't help but think... is this really what mom would've wanted for us?"

There really wasn't a good answer to that question, so he just shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, Sammy. I wish I did."

There was a soft knock on the door before it creaked open slightly. Dr. Ames poked his head around the door, waiting until they looked up at him before walking over. Mac ran his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, boys. Unfortunately, our visit has been cut short. Your father will be here in a couple of hours, so that'll give us time to enjoy our dinner."

"That's great, Mac." Sam sarcastically replied. "Wouldn't want to toss those steaks out..."

"Perhaps, I can convince your father to stay the night and get some rest." The doctor suggested.

Even Dean had to laugh, albeit weakly, at that, "Don't hold your breath, Mac. You can't change dad's mind once it's made up. You should know that by now."

The older man wrapped his arms around both boys' shoulders and gently pushed them towards the dining area. "I suppose that I should, but I can dream, can't I?"

They all sat down at the table and slowly ate; trying to prolong the time they had left together. The meal was one of the best either of the boys had in a long time. Steak, real steak, not tube-steak or canned beef was expensive. Honestly, Dean couldn't remember the last time they'd eaten anything but fast food or meals from highway diners. There was wine on the table, and the doctor had poured them each a sip-sized amount in their wine glasses. After they'd savored the meat and potatoes, Mac lifted his glass in a toast.

"To Family. I believe that Desmond Tutu once said that 'You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.' You boys are my family and I treasure the time we've spent together, however brief." With that, he clinked their glasses together and watched as both boys dissolved into giggles.

"That was so corny, Mac!" Dean complained, with Sam nodding his head in agreement. "Caleb's right. I think you've been hanging around Josh's mom too long. You're turning into a chick."

Mac had to roll his eyes, "What else has Caleb been telling you about me?" He leaned forward in his chair, arching his eyebrow in fake-seriousness. His eyes glimmered with mirth; they could all tell he was teasing.

"That you're in _loovvve_." Sammy crowed, laughing. "With Josh's mom! Eeeww."

Dean smirked at him, "The other stuff would just make you blush, Mac."

"Well, I was planning on serving you homemade peach cobbler for dessert...but, I've changed my mind now." Mackland taunted.

"Dessert, huh?" A voice from behind him grumbled, "I hope you haven't been letting them slack around the entire time, Mackland. They should be training."

John Winchester turned towards his children, "I'm pretty sure I gave you a clear order, Sam." His arms crossed over his chest, his eyes dark and accusing. "You should be ready to leave; not keeping me waiting. So, what exactly have you been doing here since I've been gone?"

Mac turned in his chair to stare at his friend, forcing himself not to become defensive. It would only fuel the Knight's blade-sharp tongue. Within a few seconds, the smile that had been on Dean's lips faded, and his face, which had been starting to take on a healthy tone as he ate, became pale once again. Even Samuel, who'd been laughing and teasing him and his brother quieted in barely-concealed anger.

Dean's voice, which had somewhat been improving throughout the day, broke as he spoke. "We're ready to go, Dad. We were just having dinner. You made a good time. We weren't expecting you for another half hour." The older boy stood up from the dinner table and went over to his father. "How'd the hunt go?"

The hunter looked as if he'd been wearing the same clothing for a week; rumpled, stained, and ripped. His beard had at least three or four days of growth and his eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. Mackland hadn't seen the Knight drop off his children; had he seen John in his current state, the doctor wouldn't have let John leave the building. "It didn't." John snapped, "Wasn't anything real, just some stupid teenagers making up stories to keep from getting expelled from school."

Mackland took a sip of his wine, commenting, "You didn't need to rush into the hunt. You could've ordered Joshua or Boone to gather intel." He spoke purposefully, fully intending to take the brunt of John's bad mood on him instead of the children.

"Don't you start with me!" It was said in a snarl. "Boys, get your things! We're leaving."

Dr. Ames stood up from his chair, pulling himself to his full height before stepping in front of Dean to face the brute. "John, why don't you just stay the night? You look tired. You've been driving the last two days... take a break." It was said calmly, trying to tame the volatile man.

"I told you on the phone that I don't have time for this shit, Mackland! If I knew that you were going to pull this crap, I would've never brought them here!"

"John," he quietly responded, "You brought them here because you were doing what was best for them. Just calm down and listen to me. Call Jim - have him assign someone else to go on this next hunt." Mac wasn't going to back down; he was just as stubborn as the man before him - if more so when protecting the people he loved. John Winchester was his brother; he was a pain in the ass, but he still loved him as if they'd grown up together... and in a way, they both had. They'd grown together in the worst and best possible way - through adversity and blood.

They'd kept eye contact as if they were having a childish 'staring contest' like the boys loved to play. Finally, Mac arched his eyebrow smirking slightly, his way of telling him that he wasn't going to back down. A few minutes later, John rolled his eyes and walked away, proving to the doctor that Winchester was just as tired as his son. The man would've never backed down if he wasn't. Before he could get too far, Mac took him by the arm and led him into his office. John wiped his face wearily as he walked past his sons. He patted Sam's head and squeezed Dean's shoulder; it was his way of saying 'sorry'. Dean understood the meaning, while Sam scowled at his father.

Once they were safely in the quiet seclusion of Mac's office, John turned tiredly towards his friend. "So, how were they?" He rubbed his forehead before walking over to the mini-bar area and pouring himself a shot of the doctor's finest brandy. He chugged it back with a hiss as he listened to Mac's response.

"John, I'm not sure what you want me to say." Dr. Ames watched silently as Winchester filled up the glass again and drank it, staring at the bottle thoughtfully. Sadly, the bottle got more attention than either of the man's children. The glass was filled again with its contents quickly drained before Ames felt the need to step in and take it from him. It earned him a glare, but he easily ignored it.

"I want you to say that you agree that there is a discipline problem emerging in Sam and that I need to put a stop to it." It was said matter-of-factly, like a commanding officer speaking about his subordinate and completely unlike a father regarding his youngest. "His attitude is starting to affect Dean."

Mackland sat down on his desk, motioning for John to sit across in the chair. "First of all, Samuel is a teenager now. You got off lucky with Dean. Running away, experimenting with marijuana, and field trips to the cathouse not-withstanding, Dean really didn't really act out during his teenage years. Samuel is different; he's going to push the limits on your patience."

An eyebrow rose sharply, "He's already pushed my patience, Mac! I need him to stop."

"Well, unless you plan on drugging him into a vegetative state, I doubt that any of us will be able to stop him from acting out. He's becoming an adult, John. He needs to make mistakes and, hopefully, he will learn from them. Just - give him room to explore and grow. None of us can keep coddling him." Mac rubbed his jaw, "I think he's doing these things to get your attention."

Winchester slammed a fist down on the desk. "He has my attention, damn it!"

Ames put his hand on top of the clenched fist, "I noticed." He said it dryly, smirking at him. "You know, all of the 'attention' you've put on Sam?" Mac waited for his friend to nod, "Well, you've taken it away from Dean... how long did it take you to notice that he was sick, John?"

John pulled his fist away as if he'd been burned, his ears flushing red. "Shit, Mac!"

"How long, John?" Mackland stared him down again, wanting an answer.

Silence reigned for minutes until they both decided to back down at the same time. The point was made. There was no need to hash it out.

The doctor pushed himself off the desk and started to pace around. "What's wrong, Doc? Ants in your pants?"

He didn't answer him and continued counting his steps as he walked around the desk. "Just tell me, Mac! Don't overthink things!" Mackland stopped midstride and turned towards John.

"I don't know if I should say this... Dean's almost an adult; he's months away from turning eighteen." The way he said it was cold and clinical - emotion was left out, leaving behind someone who was detached from his friends for the moment.

John knew that this was one of the doctor's defense mechanism. He needed it when confronting dying patients, parents of missing children, and in some cases, his family. "Like you said, Mac. He's not eighteen yet." Winchester's voice was equally cold, leading Mackland down the path of least resistance. "And since he isn't eighteen, I'm still his father and need to know if there's a problem with my son."

Mac bit the inside of his cheek, struggling with himself. John had enough and he grabbed the doctor's arm tightly, "Mac!"

With a big sigh, the decision was made. "Dean is showing signs of severe stress."

John dropped his arm with a roll of his eyes, "Stress? Give me a break, Mac."

Huffing, Dr. Ames stopped him before he could walk out. "You are incredibly exasperating, John. I've seen this type of behavior in my field - I've had colleagues suffer the same condition - and unless it's dealt with, usually leads to burnout. Please tell me that you've noticed... Dean had a panic attack and fainted yesterday. _Something_ is going on in his life."

Something in John's eyes sparked, bringing the doctor to a stop. "Wait a minute, John. You know what's going on?"

"Whatever you may think, Mac, I know my son."

Licking his lips, Mac asked a question he already knew that his friend wouldn't answer, "Are you going to tell me _why_ Dean is emotionally and physically stressed?"

John smirked, and something in the doctor hardened; whatever the secret was, he wouldn't agree with it. This he knew. "No. Trust me, Mac. Dean's just _over-thinking_ things right now. Like you said, Dean and Sam are opposites. Sammy, well, that boy's a dreamer... always wanting things to be _normal_. Dean - he's rooted in reality. This _**is**_ his normal. He'll make the right choice and as soon as he does, he'll be fine."

"The right choice? It's funny, John... I just had a similar conversation with Dean. I'll ask you what I asked him. Is it best for you or for him?"

The Knight gave the Scholar a pat on the face. "It's what's best for all of us, Mackland."

Mac pulled away, frustrated. "He's just starting to recuperate. Just don't tell me that you're planning on taking the boy on a hunt. He needs to rest, John. I'm serious."

John opened the door to the office before he left he shook his head. "You always are, Mackland."

"So, you'll stay the night?" Mac called out to the retreating form.

"Only if you saved me some steak and beer."

"Steak and beer? You're an easy date." Mac smirked back at his brother.

"Really?" John laughed, putting his arm around Mac's shoulders. "Is that what you tell Esme?"

He moved on before the doctor could sputter a comeback. As he neared the front door, he noticed the boys had placed their packs by the doorway and were standing front-and-center, ready to leave.

Dean's eyes were shining bright; his posture slouched as if preparing himself for the dress-down of a drill sergeant. Sam was standing slightly beside and behind him; he clearly was planning on throwing his big brother under the bus in one of his 'it's not my fault' tirades and John had no plans of going there with him.

He placed one hand on Dean's shoulder and another to his forehead, keeping him in place as he checked him over. "You feeling alright, Ace?"

As he expected, he straightened and quickly assured his father that he was 'fine'. "Yeah? Mac mentioned you fainted."

Immediately, Dean argued, "I didn't faint! Girls faint! I just got a little dizzy. Hadn't eaten..."

"You feel better, then? Not dizzy anymore?" John forced their eyes to meet, pushing up his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

Dean looked down and to the left, "Yeah."

John moved his face to meet his eyes, "Really?"

"I uh, still get a little dizzy when I stand up too fast." Dean softly confessed.

Mac went over to them from where he'd been watching silently. "Well, I think you'll be fine after a few more days of rest and healthy portioned meals, son." He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a covered plate from the refrigerator with a relish. Motioning for the family to sit down, he put the extra piece of steak in front of his friend. "What do you boys say that you help me warm up dessert?"

Sam grinned, "Sure, Mac."

The cobbler was quickly put together. Sam spooning the peaches in the plate while Dean added the topping. It was popped into the oven and by the time John had burped away the last of the beer, dessert was ready.

Mac pushed Dean into the recliner and encouraged Sam to sit beside him on the couch, leaving the second recliner to John to rest on. Each member of the family got a large helping of the peach cobbler before settling in comfortably to watch the third installment of Lethal Weapon.

Everyone was calm, laughing, and most of all - not fighting. As Mackland bit into a piece of peach, he couldn't help but wonder how long it would last.


End file.
